Freya's POV
Something was wrong with my drink. I stared at the glass of orange juice sitting untouched on the white tablecloth, my pulse quickening as I noticed the telltale signs.
The straw showed clear evidence of tampering. Moisture clung to it well above the normal waterline, as if someone had stirred the liquid deliberately. But I hadn't touched that glass since the waiter set it down. Not once.
My mind raced through the possibilities. Why would anyone need to stir fresh juice? Unless they were mixing something into it.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. Mira Tristan had drugged my drink.
My blood turned to ice as the implications sank in. She had the audacity to pull this stunt in broad daylight, in a public restaurant. But why? What was her endgame?
Revenge for her brother seemed too simple. Poisoning me would destroy her own life too. No, this had to be something more calculated. More cruel.
